Heart of Hearts
by silbecoo
Summary: Rosaline and Benvolio are finding it terribly hard to believe in happy endings, and it's easier to focus on their search for the truth in spite of their growing bond.
1. Chapter 1

They spend their first night under the moon, riding their horses to exhaustion. There is no time to stop and sleep, no place to lay their heads. The royal guard will not rest until they have Benvolio, and Rosaline knows if Livia does not discover her note first, there is no hope that her family will not come after her immediately.

So they ride at full speed, traitorous moon illuminating them on the unsheltered road. Benvolio had given her little choice with his teary eyes and the desperation coloring his voice. Her chest aches when she thinks at the way the both of them have been treated by their city, their families.

No doubt if she'd stayed then a marriage to Damiano would have been forced, especially with Benvolio's flight from Verona. All parties would have assumed the younger Montague's action was an admission of guilt.

Her fingers slip against the horse's reins, slick with sweat where she's been gripping tightly. Her back aches with the motion of the galloping creature, the muscles of her thighs and calves sore from holding her place in the stirrups. She's out of practice since her father's death, her aunt sneering at her wish to go riding, an unnecessary pastime in the city, especially for a servant.

The packed dirt road they are on nears the edge of a thickly wooded forest, disappearing under the branches into darkness. Setting her jaw, Rosaline urges her horse forward.

The blackness settles around her like a blanket, the foliage more dense than she expected. For a moment fear of the unknown thrums through her. She pulls back on the reins, slowing to a even trot, willing her racing heart to slow.

Benvolio is close behind, his horse snuffling in the darkness, hooves thumping gently on the ground. She turns to look at him, finding only a barely discernible black figure. "The sun will rise in a few hours. We should stop and rest while we're shrouded in darkness."

She waits on his response, longer than is reasonable she thinks. "Montague, does something have your tongue?"

Their horses are walking now, side by side on the dimly lit road. The creatures seem to take comfort in one another's presence, their closeness causing Benvolio's knee to bump against hers.

"This forest is…" He stops, unable to articulate exactly what is bothering him. "I just don't have a good feeling about letting my guard down in the darkness." Unspoken is the general feeling of unease that began to permeate him the moment they plunged into the woods.

The corner of Rosaline's mouth quirks up. "Is my Lord Montague afraid of the dark? Perhaps there's a wolf-man hiding in the bushes just waiting for two unsuspecting travelers? Or maybe there's a dreaded vampire hanging from a low branch ready to drain the life from our bodies?"

In response to her amusement, Benvolio gently nudges his heels into the flanks of his horse, leaving her to catch up. "Laugh all you want, Capulet, but there are things in this forest at night much worse than vampires and wolf-men, and not a few of them are human in form."

Giving in, she sets her horse to trotting again. "Fine, though we shall ride our horses to death if we do not stop soon."

"There's an inn on the other side of this forest. We should make it there just as the sun rises. It's better to travel at night anyway."

"A sound plan, Montague."

He agreement is both unexpected and needed. It calms his fluttering nerves and pushes away the certainty that he is making mistakes at every turn. For the first time in over a day he begins to feel like things are going to turn out for the better.

Somehow it's getting darker as they move along, the faint outline of Benvolio beside her getting less and less visible. Instinctively she reaches out, looking for him. Her hand lands on his arm, fingers sliding to the crook of his elbow before she has s chance to tell herself she's being silly. She holds on anyway.

She hears him snicker, but he doesn't pull away. "Now, who's afraid of the dark, Capulet?"

"Quiet, Montague, you'll wake the wolf-man."

He's right about their arrival at the inn. The sky is just beginning to lighten, the dark blue above them melting into a rosy gold. Rosaline has seen it many times from the window of her bedroom, and many more looking out across the garden in front of the kitchen at her uncle's house, but never has it seemed quite this vibrant. The orb of the sun on the horizon is the bright orange-red of a coal glowing in the hearth, and the rays are warm against her chilly skin.

She releases a breath she didn't know she was holding, hearing the same sound come from the man beside her. It's only then that she realizes her hand is still tucked beneath his arm. She withdraws quickly, and tries to ignore the strange untethered feeling she's left with, although Benvolio's expression makes her wonder if he feels the same.

The inn itself is small and would be easily mistaken for a homestead were it not for the row of hitching posts off to the side of an unusually large stable.

Tired and dusty they dismount, handing over their horses to a skinny stable boy with hay in his hair. Benvolio gifts him with a small coin, using sleight of hand to make the coin appear and disappear several times before relinquishing it. For the first time Rosaline sees a soft and happy smile spread across Benvolio's face, it morphs into a grin, laughing at the way the child's eyes grow wide during the trick. Rosaline's adds this exchange to the growing list of things that surprise her about her betrothed, a new feeling curling inside of her.

The innkeeper is a rather large man with a soft smile. He greets the couple as they come through the door, handing off their belongings to a shiny faced young girl. "Been traveling all night, my lord?"

Benvolio nods, trying to think of a plausible explanation. Their circumstance is strange, to say the least, but not entirely unusual. "My wife and I will be needing a room for the next eight hours or so. Her dear mother is sick and we're trying make our travel as quick as possible." He reaches for her hand to sell the story, bringing it up to brush his lips against her knuckles. "We make haste, but exhaustion has caught up with both our horses and us too I'm afraid."

Rosaline is speechless. She can still feel the warmth of his lips against her skin, the slight tickle of his beard. The lie slips so adroitly from his mouth, it's concerning and reassuring at the same time. She turns back toward the innkeeper and nods without saying anything, pretending to be shy. She doesn't enjoy lying.

It works, and within moments the two find themselves alone in a tiny room with an even tinier bed in the corner. It's only now that the full weight of her actions falls on Rosaline. This is it for her. There is absolutely no going back. The knowledge makes her feel breathless and stricken. Benvolio notices immediately.

"Capulet?" It garners no response. Gently guides her to the bed, urging her to sit. More softly he asks, "Rosaline, what's wrong?"

The sound of her name snaps her out of silence. She looks up at him. "I chose you."

She sounds somewhat astonished, and in any other circumstances he would be offended, but her tone of voice has him pausing.

She continues. "There's nothing left for me after this, Benvolio. Even if we figure out who was behind the attacks, my reputation will be that of an unmarried woman who ran away with a man, a woman who spent an untold amount of time alone with him." She shakes her head slightly. "The alternative wasn't any better. I would not tie myself to your uncle in any circumstance, but still…"

He can hear the wistfulness in her voice, and it catches in his own throat. Would it be the worst thing in the world for them to get married? They aren't in love, not like their desperate cousins had been, but he respects her, likes her even. Maybe Romeo and Juliet's kind of love wasn't real. Maybe it was just infatuation. It was the kind of thing he'd felt for Stella, and _surely_ someone who had actually loved him wouldn't have been able to betray him that way. "Rosaline…"

She doesn't hear him. "When I was little, I always imagined loving someone the way my mother loved my father. I could see it in her eyes, the adoration. She glowed with it, and he did too. I knew it was real, I just didn't know it was so rare."

He laughs softly, the sound tinged with bitterness. "Rare indeed. I don't think I've ever seen it. In fact I was just thinking it didn't exist."

Her eyes flash at him, sympathy for whatever his childhood must have been flooding her, but also a curiosity about his adulthood. "You've never been in love?"

"I thought once…" He trails off, Stella's betrayal still too fresh a wound. His voice is thick when he continues. "… but I was wrong."

Rosaline nods. "That's something I'm entirely too familiar with."

Benvolio is sitting beside her on the bed now, the ropes holding up the lumpy mattress creak as he shifts uncomfortably. "Escalus betrayed you."

It's a matter of fact statement, and Rosaline simply nods. "As the fair haired woman at the bawdy house betrayed you."

Benvolio's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "How did you–"

"I'm fairly observant, Montague. There were looks between the two of you, and don't think I'm happy about me being the subject of your pillow talk." She tries to sound stern, but her expression is soft, almost pitying.

"Why didn't you say anything before?"

She shrugs, looking down at her hands. "There was no point. Why didn't you tell anyone about Escalus and I?"

"What good would it have done other than to besmirch your name and force the king to call me a liar?"

She sends him a sideways glance, amusement once again creeping into her voice. "I would have thought you'd enjoy besmirching my name."

He can't help but respond in kind, the corners of his mouth twitching up. When did it become so comforting to talk to her of these things? "My uncle would have beaten me black and blue."

His tone is still light hearted, but Rosaline cannot help but feel for him. She reaches for him, again instinctively, a need to comfort and be comforted propelling her. His hands are graceful, an artist's she's so recently learned. His palm is warm where it presses against her own, graceful fingers intertwined with her own. She raised it and brushes her lips against the back of his hand in an echo of his earlier gesture. "We have to fix all of this. We can't let them continue to hurt us."

Benvolio nods, the tops of his ears suddenly red. It's not the touch that has him reeling, but rather the soft vulnerability behind it.

She releases his hand and looks at him sheepishly. "Forgive me, I'm tired and everything seems so surreal."

He gives her a crooked smile, the façade of the dashing rake firmly back in place. "No, my beloved, forgive _me_ for so rudely interrupting your slumbers."

And with that he's rising from the bed, the slight flush to his skin the only thing betraying the churning emotions fighting inside of him. "I shall return shortly with a few provisions. Get some rest."


	2. Chapter 2

Benvolio tarries in the kitchen, making the innkeeper's daughter blush. The devil-may-care slant to his smile flusters the maiden. He watches bemusedly as she giggles and looks away, scouring the pantry for anything to spare. The girl doesn't notice the lack of spark behind his eyes, the strain in his voice when the velvet words pass his lips.

Stella's betrayal is still fresh, a gaping wound in his chest. It's as though someone is dashing salt upon it every time he forces out a fake laugh. The girl reminds him of his former mistress, her softly falling blonde waves and dewy cheeks. She's a younger, less jaded version of the woman he thought he loved. He silently hopes that this girl will never have to sacrifice her ability to love just so she can survive.

With a triumphant smile, she turns around, arms full of day old bread and hard cheese. There's even a little stoneware jar of preserves, a piece of twine looped into an overly precious bow to keep the the lid in place.

He accepts her proffered bounty, wrapping it all in a clean cheesecloth. "Your generosity knows no bounds, Miss Elsa. You're certain your father won't be upset with you?"

He brushes the back of her hand with his knuckles, pretending to be unaware of the contact. He's rewarded with a deep crimson blush, Elsa withdrawing her hand and tucking it into her apron. "Oh no, my lord. He won't even notice. The kitchen is solely under _my_ purvey."

She's undeniably proud of this fact, so Benvolio moves to marvel at her handiwork, surveying their surroundings. "And what a well kept little kingdom you have. Your father is a lucky man, as one day will be your husband."

She giggles again. The sound is insipid, and he's quickly tiring of the game. He hates resorting to this ploy, and hates how easily it works, but there's no other choice. His coin purse is alarmingly light, and they need nourishment on their journey. He withdraws from Elsa, gathering up the makeshift package, about to bid her adieu when she blurts out, "It is your wife that is lucky, my lord."

The statement throws him off balance. "My wife?" The sound of his own bewildered voice seems far away, blood suddenly whooshing in his ears as his heart raps out a staccato rhythm.

Elsa only nods, still oblivious to anything under Benvolio's charming exterior. "I saw the way you looked at her. You are in complete awe, surely as smitten as the day you first met. Tell me, was it love at first sight?"

He fights the urge to laugh maniacally. He'd been wrong all along. Elsa has no interest in being charmed with pretty words or flirted with like a barmaid. Instead, she's besotted with the idea of true love being under the same roof as her. Starry-eyed and idealistic, all she wants is a beautiful story to sigh over after they leave. All because of the way he looks at the Capulet. Suddenly the ache in his chest isn't so intense.

He chuckles softly, remembering the way Rosaline had glared at him during their cousins' wedding. "No, I'm afraid she hated me with every fiber of her being when we first met."

Elsa gasps, her hand flying to her mouth, eyes wide. "Surely not, my lord!"

"Indeed. Our families are great rivals and she'd heard naught but terrible things about me and my kinsmen, and I hers." He decides to leave out the bloody history that still plagues them. "I believe I even called her a harpy."

"Then how did you fall in love? I don't understand how you can look at her with such adoration and have such an unkind history."

In love with Rosaline? He's not, that much he knows. But there is a warmth between them now that was never there before, and he cannot deny he finds her arrestingly beautiful. She makes him feel… He's not entirely sure. He struggles to answer the question. "It was slow in the beginning, like rain drops collecting in the bottom of a dry riverbed, and then all at once like a sudden deluge flooding the banks."

The words have a prophetic ring to them, and they makes his stomach flutter in strange anticipation. Elsa is looking at him like he hung the moon and stars and he takes it as his cue to leave, heat crawling up the back of his neck as he walks away.


End file.
